


The stars come out

by No_AbsolutelyNot



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bees, Happy Dean Winchester, Horses, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, The Impala (Supernatural), lame tags because spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-13
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2020-01-12 10:40:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18444872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/No_AbsolutelyNot/pseuds/No_AbsolutelyNot
Summary: Castiel visits Dean and they both get a little peace.





	The stars come out

The wind kicks up, warm and dry, and the horses in the paddock run in a circle but return to the fence just as Castiel approaches. His fingers trail over the top rail of the worn-wood fence, appreciating the rough texture, the sturdiness. It keeps three horses safe, separating them from a larger pasture of green and rolling hills, surrounded by trees. The horses have worn down to dust the area around their run-in shed, the water trough, and the gate--but the rest is still covered with short grass. They look like a family--the largest is big and black with no other markings, the middle one is dun with a stripe down her back, and the little one is a blend of the two, black maned and silvery-bodied with those same dun markings. They all crowd together, shove their noses over the railing, jostling in a good natured way, and Cas reaches out his hand to greet them each with a scratch to the forehead or neck or withers. The small one lips at the sleeve of his trenchcoat, maybe to shake him down for treats. In the distance he hears a screen door clap against its frame. He tickles the horse’s muzzle in goodbye as he walks off toward the sound.

It’s not far--there’s a little tree-lined trail covered in fine gravel that crunches in a satisfying way under his shoes. The trail bends a little and opens up to a clearing where the fence continues and butts into a white barn, and next to that is a white farmhouse. The horses have followed him along the fenceline, their noses to the ground. From the porch, Dean shouts, “Hey! You made it!”

He gallops down from the porch, his boots rhythmically striking the wooden stairs and he crosses the distance between the two of them in short order. He is glowingly pleased, grinning wide, and he claps a hand against Cas’ shoulder.

Cas allows a quiet smile to creep across his face. He says, softly, “Of course,” and then, “I apologize that it took me a while. Things took a little longer to tie up than I expected.”

Dean is quick to dismiss the apology, “No problem, man. I really appreciate you taking care of--all of that.”

They stand in silence for a beat before Dean nods to the fence, “You met the horses, I see.”

Cas presses his lips together, still in a small, qualified smile and nods.

“They’re a pain in the ass, but they give me a routine,” Dean is compelled to explain, “Hay in the morning, hay at night. Scrubbing water buckets. Trimming hooves. That kind of thing. They’re still kind of wild but--I like ‘em.”

Cas hums in acknowledgement. He wants to say something about horses being sensitive animals, that they’re a dichotomy of power and delicateness, that it makes sense Dean has them. But he doesn’t.

“Let me show you around the rest of the place.”

 

*

 

Cas trails a little behind Dean, following his broad shoulders as they cut a path to the barn. He’s wearing a grey t-shirt, with a black and grey flannel tied around his waist, and the usual jeans and work boots. Cas tries to remember if he’s ever seen Dean this way--excited, but in an unconcerned, easy, sort of way. The sun is golden and it makes Dean look golden, and Cas wonders if he touched him if his skin would be warm and hum under his fingertips.

Dean pulls back on the barn doors and they make a familiar, shuddering sound that demands Cas’ full attention. 

Cas’ hand rests gently on one of the doors--as if to feel for a heartbeat--his thumb rubbing up and down the grey-white wood. He shoots a look to Dean. Dean smirks, and says, “Oh, maybe I should’ve had you open it up?”

Cas shakes his head, fondly, and walks in.

It’s big--just as Cas expected it to be--with exposed beams above like a great white ribcage against the darker corrugated metal roof. The walls are all covered in broad weathered--but unmarked, unblemished--grey-white beams. Cas can see at the far end, partitioned off, there are box stalls and hay storage but what Dean wants to show him is right in front of them.

Baby sits on the concrete floor, beautiful, shining--like a black pearl situated in this light-grey oyster of a barn. Dean gravitates to her, grinning. Cas smiles too, but only at the floor, as if looking at Dean and the Impala would be too much. Dean’s hand slides over the hood, and he gives her a playful tap.

“See? She made it in one piece.”

“Of course she did.”

There’s a cover for her folded neatly and tucked away, and everything Dean would need to work on her in stainless steel cabinets and benches that hug the barn walls. Dean’s movements as he makes his way around Baby would make Fred Astaire jealous, fluid and light on his feet.

“There are roads all over the place here, you wouldn’t believe it. Long stretches along pastureland, winding ones through the woods. You can drive for miles.”

“I’m glad. That sounds lovely, Dean.”

“I’ll take you for a ride sometime,” Dean says as he leads him through the other end of the barn, past the stalls and hay. Cas hums as if to acknowledge that he likes that idea, but doesn’t quite believe him.

 

*

 

They are within the fenceline now, but there’s a gate just ahead that they exit through. Before them is the woods. They walk to the fringes of it, but don’t go in, though there is a trail that winds itself through the trees.

Cas rests his hand on the bark of a yew tree, and gazes into the woods where the light dapples through the leaves of seemingly every kind of tree: oak, maple, birch, sycamore--and those are just the ones within eyesight. Without knowing, Cas can feel that the woods are deep and dense and filled with flora and fauna. A healthy, fertile forest.

“So if you take this trail,” Dean begins, pulling Cas from his thoughts, “it goes all over the place but, importantly, to a lake...”

Cas gazes down the trail, as if to see where the lake is, but it’s too far.

“There’s a dock and everything, where I can fish,” Dean finishes, but somehow Cas already knew. He imagines there are two chairs on the dock, waiting.

“Do you want to go now?” Cas asks.

Dean considers, humming, “Hm, maybe later. Haven’t even shown you the house yet.”

 

*

 

Dean doubles back to the house which sits not far beside the barn. There is a wrap around porch, and a bench swing that creaks happily on its chains as he bounds up the stairs, Cas in tow. Dean throws open the door--it’s not even locked, and Cas guesses it never will be again. Dean holds the door open, and makes a sweeping gesture with his arm to usher Cas in. Cas tips a little bow as he goes.

Cas notices through the windows the sun has moved lower in the sky. The light spills through the glass, and he stands in a beam for a moment, like a cat, absorbing the warmth. The floor is a glossy, finished black wood and the furniture all looks comfortable, handmade by expert craftsman hands. 

There is a leather couch with deep cushions, with a cozy looking tartan blanket thrown over the back, and it looks perfect for falling asleep on. Next to it is a side table, and on it a mirrored tray with a few crystal tumblers and a bottle of The Good Stuff--Angel’s Envy whiskey. The bottle is nearly full, and the glasses are all clean.

One wall is made of grey stone and a fireplace is tucked into it. A stack of dry, seasoned wood sits beside the fireplace--Cas can smell the logs are apple, birch, and cherry. He guesses Dean has collected them from the surrounding forest and thinks about him splitting the wood in the front yard on an old stump in the morning when it’s not too hot. He wonders if sitting in front of a fire here would be as comforting as he thinks it would. He stops that train of thought with a reminder to not insert himself where he’s not needed.

Dean breezes through the sitting area, gestures vaguely, at the couch and the chairs and the shelves lining the walls and says, “Books,” as if Cas would miss them.

They end up in the kitchen which is spacious, where Dean can move around as he cooks. There’s a island in the middle, with a skirted sink, in addition to the double sink under the window which looks out toward the woods. There are what seems like a hundred cabinets, wood and painted white with black handles. There is a pie--of course--on the counter looking freshly baked and that’s when the soft smell hits Cas--cherry and buttery crust and contentment. Dean washes his hands, swipes up a green checkered dish towel and wipes it over the counter to clear it of errant water spray. He flips the dish towel over his shoulder, where it comes to rest.

A massive, stainless steel refrigerator is nestled in the cabinets and Dean opens it to extract two bottles of beer. Cas peeks past Dean’s shoulder to see--while there is an impressive amount of ground beef inside--there are also vegetables, real ones. Dean hands one of the beer bottles to Cas, clinks it in a cheers with his own, and leans to rest against the counter.

Cas drifts around the kitchen, wandering behind the kitchen island, putting distance between them. Dean takes a long pull from his beer.

He isn’t sure he should ask, but finally Cas says, “Have you seen Sam recently?”

Dean is entirely unperturbed by the question, answering “You know, I came by to see him, and he came by to see me when we first got our places--but not since.”

Cas’ nods, his mouth softens, and he takes a sip from his beer.

“He seemed really happy and like--” Dean paused, maybe looking for the right words, “--like I don’t have to worry about him. Does that make sense?”

“It does.”

“Anyway--I can see him whenever I want, but we just don’t, I guess. We’re busy doing our own thing.” Dean says it like he is telling Cas the moon still orbits the earth, a statement of--albeit comforting--fact.

Cas smiles to himself, mostly, resting his bottle on the counter and tapping gently around the neck with his fingers. Dean says, suddenly, “Hey. Look in that cabinet” and gestures with his beer bottle.

A little suspiciously, Cas leaves his beer on the counter, goes over to the cabinet in question, reaches up for the handle, and pulls the door open. He doesn’t mean for it to, but a surprised little gasp escapes him. 

It is a tall cabinet, and it is filled from top to bottom shelf with jars and jars and jars of peanut butter and jelly.

“You still like PB&J, right?” Dean is downright mirthful, and knows the answer.

Cas huffs out a little laugh, and touches a few of the jars with something that’s suspiciously like a caress. He gives Dean a fleeting, bashful sort of look and admits, “Yes, I do.”

“Yeah, you do.” the self-satisfaction in Dean’s voice is downright smug, in an annoyingly endearing way. He pushes off from the counter, completely abandons his beer without a second thought, and gently closes the cabinet door to all of that peanut butter and jelly. His fingers briefly brush against Cas’ hand, still on the door’s handle.

“Tour’s not done yet.” Dean declares, and gestures for Cas to follow. Cas does. They walk by a staircase leading up to the second floor, but they don’t go that way. Instead, they head out of the front door and go around the house.

 

*

 

“You’re gonna love this,” Dean says as they walk. If Cas didn’t know better, he’d guess that Dean would have really liked to lead him blindfolded and make it a surprise. As it is, Cas is enjoying the view: Dean walking in front, backwards, and crowding Cas a little, attempting to limit his field of vision with his own body. Dean is unabashedly enjoying this, and that floods Cas’ head with a sort of disorienting, but not unpleasant lightness.

The ground swells a little beneath their feet, well cushioned by the grass. When they pop over the little hill Dean puts on the breaks, throwing up his hands palms out to stop Cas, and steps to his side so Cas can have a look and take the whole scene in.

It’s a garden, surrounded by wildflowers. The garden is delineated by a fence made from branches, careful cut and measures and fixed together but still looking a part of the wildness around it. The gate leading into the garden has an arbor of bent branches and wisteria climbs all around it. Within the garden the ground is perfectly level with gravel paths around the beds which rise up out of the ground with dark earth encircled by large grey stones. They grow all sorts of things: herbs, vegetables, berry bushes, and even a couple fruit trees.

Cas breathes out, “This is beautiful, Dean.” It’s maybe the second most beautiful thing Cas has ever seen, but he won’t say that. He finds it strangely difficult to take another breath back in.

Dean smiles in the way that makes lines appear by the corners of his eyes. He puts a hand on Cas’ arm and points distantly with the other, “And look, between the garden and the flowers--bees!"

Cas can see beyond the garden fence where the wildflowers grow in a massive expanse of color that there are hives, light blue and buzzing with bees flying in and out of them. Cas hums into a lopsided smile.

“I got you bees!” Dean is  _ so _ pleased. He slaps the back of his hand against Cas’ chest as he says it. Cas’ chests aches, but not from the slap. He looks at Dean, for what feels like the first time since he first arrived here. 

“These are bees for me?” Cas is face is suddenly serious, unbelieving. He tries to swallow but his throat is not cooperating.

“Well, yeah. I mean--the garden and flowers and stuff, too.” Dean is suddenly bashful--his cheeks and tips of his ears are tinged just the slightest shade of pink. His eyes search Cas’ face looking, looking--but he says the words as the plainest facts there are in the whole universe. Like Cas would have had to be an idiot to not know.

Cas feels prickling in his nose, his lips press together to keep the rest of his face from crumpling. 

“I wanted to make this place nice, you know? Like somewhere you could come and hang out, and, uh. Stay. If you wanted.” 

Cas is still for a moment. He looks up to the sky--filled with soft colors: blues, pinks, purples--now that the sun has moved close to the horizon. He looks up so gravity keeps the tears in his skull, so he doesn’t look at Dean’s face--bright, beautiful, open--and completely lose it. He sucks in an unsteady breath. Collected, he looks at Dean and says, softly, “Thank you, Dean. I think I’d like that.”

“Good!” Dean all but chirps, his face breaking into a broad grin. “Fair warning though--there’s only one bed in that house, so.” He smirks, green eyes looks downright mischievous, and Cas bursts into a laugh, stares at his feet. 

“That’s--” Cas looks at Dean again, his eyes searching and finally finding something that washes over him, calm and steady. “Okay. Good.”

Dean has gone softer now, and reaches an arm around to pull Cas close, but Cas is already there. Their chests bump--solid and broad--as their arms are around each other, pulling them close, holding them together, chin over shoulder. They fit. 

“Your heaven is my favorite heaven.” Cas says low, a confession in Dean’s ear. 

Dean tilts his head in a nudge, the bristles of his hair brushing against Cas’ before he leans back, putting just enough space between them. Dean’s palm rests warm on Cas’ jaw, his thumb gently, just barely, skims over his cheekbone. 

“Yeah?” Dean gives him a lopsided smile, eyes soft, hopeful. 

“Yeah.” Cas replies. 

Between them a steady pulse beats. It reverberates through the fields and woods and pastures, it resonates with the hum of the bees. And in the dithering light soft stars vibrate into existence.

**Author's Note:**

> This happens so far in the future that you don’t even have to worry about it.
> 
> I have an outline of what precedes this but I dunno if I'll ever flesh it all out.


End file.
